Don't Rock the Jukebox
by Emerald Twin Blade
Summary: Paul's just been dumped... Though outwardly he seems just as coldhearted as ever, he's actually just brokenhearted. See what happens when he goes to a bar and complains about how his girlfriend left him for another girl! Slight IkariAppealshipping.


**Don't Rock the Jukebox**

_**Pokémon: Diamond & Pearl**_

**By Emerald Twin Blade**

disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon, duh. XP! And I don't own the song **Don't Rock the Jukebox** by _Alan Jackson_. LoL!

Emerald's Notes & Nonsense: I have not revised and/or edited this fic, so... tell me if you find any mistakes, so I can fix them. XP!!

**: Undivided :**

"Grr…"

_**BAM!!**_ The bar doors slammed open, making everyone inside look to the entrance/exit. There, in the middle of the two open doors, stood the one with long dark purple hair… the one with eyes so dark and icy that they'd make a Weavile jealous… the one they'd all come to know as the Merciless Trainer.

Paul's fist was held out in front of him, so it was obvious that he'd _punched_ the doors open. His other hand was in his pocket and, pulling down the one he'd opened the doors with, put it in the opposite pocket.

He had an angry scowl on his tanned face, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he walked into the building. All the waitresses and tough-_looking_ bikers got out of his way, allowing him to take a seat at the bar counter.

"Looks like somebody pissed you off _big_-time… What's going on, Paul?" the stout, balding bartender asked cautiously, putting a shot glass filled with an unknown liquor in front of the sixteen-year-old.

"I don't wanna talk about it…" Paul mumbled back, taking the small glass and downing its contents in one gulp.

Having seen the trainer in there on many occasions, the bartender already knew his habits. He put another shot in front of the teen and took the empty one, filling it again.

"Girl trouble?"

"I said _I don't wanna talk about it_." He said in the most menacingly calmest voice in the world.

Everyone who'd been sitting or standing near the two of them immediately high-tailed it out of the surrounding area. The owner of the bar shook his head, taking the empty one and giving the full one again.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop… but when you feel like sharing, I'll be right here."

"Hmph…" Paul scoffed, drinking from the shot glass again and slamming it down on the counter.

His eyes strayed over to the jukebox in the corner; it was blasting _'We Will Rock You'_ at its loudest, which wasn't very. Rolling those dark hues, he shoved himself out of the chair, mumbling, "I'll be right back."

As he walked toward it, his angry outward appearance was beginning to melt away. The hard look in his eye softened to the point that he was gazing longingly toward the music player.

He remembered when he first came here… with _her_.

"_Hey, Paul! Look, they have Rush here!"_ a high-pitched female voice rang in his memory, _"From now on, this'll be _our_ song!"_

Just as he thought he'd reached it, someone popped up in front of him.

"Hey…"

The random boy turned to face him, but upon seeing Paul's sinister look, he dropped the quarter he was holding and ran off.

"Tch… pathetic…" was all the Merciless Trainer could say before snagging the fallen quarter and popping it into the music player, "Okay… so, what else do they got?"

He flipped through the songs, ignoring all the songs in the Rock-category. It was after a few moments that he stopped on one particular song.

"'_Don't Rock the Jukebox'_? What the…" he mumbled, but shrugged and pressed the number that would play it.

**Don't rock the jukebox!**

**I wanna hear some Jones.**

'**Cause my heart ain't ready**

**For the Rolling Stones…**

Paul's eye twitched, "Oh, great… it's _Country_." He turned around and walked back toward the counter with his hands stuffed into his pockets, "What a waste of the perfectly good quarter…"

**I don't feel like rockin'**

**Since my baby's gone…**

_You got that right, Buster…_ He thought, listening to the lyrics until he sat back down and sipped up one of the two full shot glasses. Eyes narrowed into a glare at the strange looks he was getting, forcing them to look away.

**So don't rock the jukebox!**

**Play me a Country song.**

"That's a new one… You never really struck me as the kind of guy who likes Country music." The bartender thought aloud, getting ready to refill the teen's glass.

"Shut up… Your stupid jukebox tricked me." Paul grumbled, only drinking half of the second glass before putting it down and placing his hands over his face as he leaned his elbows on the counter top.

**Before you drop that quarter,**

**Keep one thing in mind.**

**You've got a hardcore hillbilly**

**Standing here in line.**

_Definitely regret picking this song._ He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get that stupid girl out of his mind.

**I've been down and lonely**

**Ever since she left.**

"Damn it!" he growled, the song bringing her back into his head _right_ when he thought he'd cleared it.

**Before you punch that number,**

**Could I make one request?**

The bartender laughed, "Are you ready to share yet?"

Paul was about to answer, when he noticed somebody try to go change the song. Picking up the half-full shot glass, he turned in his seat and threw it at them.

It missed and the glass broke against the wall; the pieces fell behind the irremovable jukebox. The person got freaked out and ran off, teaching everybody in the bar to never interrupt a song that the Merciless Trainer chooses.

**Don't rock the jukebox!**

**I wanna hear some Jones.**

'**Cause my heart ain't ready**

**For the Rolling Stones...**

**I don't feel like rockin'**

**Since my baby's gone.**

**So don't rock the jukebox,**

**Play me a Country song.**

"She left me." Paul said simply, his voice a little _too_ steady and calm, "Dawn broke up with me earlier… Said something about cheating on me, too."

"No wonder you came in pissed off… Who was it, then? That Ash Ketchum-fella? Or maybe Nando?" the round bartender asked, twirling his brown mustache.

The purple-haired teen grasped the lone, full shot glass in his hand, his grip getting tighter and tighter on it, "Neither…"

"Well? Who, then?"

The glass shattered in his hand, the liquor wetting the counter with a puddle. Paul's eyes were blazing with a dangerous flame.

"She left me for another _girl_!! She was cheating on me with that carrot-haired Coordinator-girl, Zoey."

He stared down at his hand, watching as his own blood spilt down onto the counter, merging with the liquor. His fist came unclenched as the instrumental break in the song ended.

**I ain't got nothin'**

**Against Rock N' Roll.**

**But when your heart's been broken,**

**Y'need a song that's slow…**

Hearing the lyrics again, he actually agreed with it. A song that's a little bit slow _does_ make him feel a little bit calmer. All he could do was listen to the song; it didn't even register in his head that there were little pieces of glass stuck in the palm of his hand, nor did he notice how his blood was not stopping its escape from his body.

**There ain't nothin' like a steel guitar**

**Down a memory.**

**Before you spend your money, babe,**

**Play a song for me.**

"Heh, you've got quite a grip… Hold still for a bit." The bartender said; a set of tweezers in his hand. The bald, middle-aged bar owner held Paul's wounded hand in his vacant one, using the other one to pull out the glass with the tweezers.

The purple-haired teen winced a bit, but he was lost in the song for the moment.

**Don't rock the jukebox!**

**I wanna hear George Jones.**

'**Cause my heart ain't ready**

**For the Rolling Stones.**

**I don't feel like rockin'**

**Since my baby's gone.**

**So don't rock the jukebox!**

**Play me a Country song.**

Paul sighed once the bartender had wrapped up his hand using the bandages from the first-aid kit underneath the counter.

"There ya go… Try not to hold anything tight for a while. Just until it heals, at least."

Paul put his good hand into his pocket and took out a twenty-dollar bill. Laying it down on the counter, he pushed himself up to his feet and turned around.

"Huh?" the bartender stared at the money and then to the boy.

"Keep the change. I'm outta here." The purple-haired sixteen-year-old mumbled, exiting the bar as the song ended.

**So don't rock the jukebox!**

**Play me a Country song…**


End file.
